Death of a Demon
by Sylla
Summary: He was the saviour of mankind,the one who fought for them when all seemed lost. And now he's gone. Oneshot describing Eva's reaction to Sparda's death. Inspired by Laryna6's fic Rapture.


_I suck at titles. It's official. The best I could come up with without thinking about it for hours on end was taking the name of Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman" and substituting salesman for demon. Ah well._

_Thank you Laryna6 for your awesome fics. They've influenced me enough so that I wrote this. You rock!_

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It was cold. The sky was growing dark, and only a thin band of brilliant orange could be seen on the horizon. A few solitary stars gleamed in the velvety purple sky, almost like diamonds.

She stood alone. She had come outside because she knew, for _oh so certain_, and it hurt. Her arms clasped around her as she hugged herself, but that couldn't replace what she knew she would never have again.

It was growing ever darker, yet she stayed outside, alone, because of what she knew.

He wasn't coming back.

Though she didn't want to let herself believe it, she knew it, as surely as if he had told her himself. And it ached. Like a cold fire somewhere inside her. Like someone had reached in and ripped out a part of her soul. It ached so much, she could hardly stand it. Crystal tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and slowly she sank to the ground.

She closed her eyes, as though hoping this would cut off all thought, make it stop hurting. But her cruel mind played to her a stream of memories, scenes from his life. _Their_ life. And now it was over.

She kneaded the ground beneath her with hands numb from the cold. Her lips formed the name of the one who had once given her so much joy, and who's absence was now tearing her apart.

"Sparda..."

She repeated his name over and over again, as though it were a charm that could somehow bring him back to her. But it couldn't. _Nothing_ could bring him back now. A broken sob escaped her.

Her mind was still taunting her with those memories, memories that were so precious to her. Because now, those memories were all that were left.

_A holiday in the mountains... they had gone to visit some ruins, and he had entertained her with a running commentary about how the ruins had been built..._

_A job they had taken together. They had fought a hoard of demons, and he had looked so beautiful..._

_A sunset at a lake. They had watched the sky turn fiery, and the water had reflected it, and he had leaned over and whispered in her ear that he loved her..._

It _hurt_. It hurt to know that he wasn't coming back to her.

Slowly, exhausted, she rose, turned and reentered the mansion.

—

Everything reminded her of him. The library, where he had loved to spend his free time but he had always been willing to come out if she had called. The gleaming black grand piano, where he would play for her, fingers dancing lightly across the keys, and she would listen to him for hours on end.

The couch where they would sit together some nights, and he would start a fire and...

Everything had seemed so perfect. Everything had _been_ so perfect.

She slowly sat down on the couch, curling her legs under her as she had done when they had sat there together. Slowly a single tear made its solitary way down her cheek.

"Mommy?" a voice across the room made her lift her head. She wiped away the tear and struggled to smile as Dante and Vergil, her beloved twin sons, padded across the room to the couch. They clambered up onto it, each on one side.

"Mommy..." Dante repeated, distress at seeing her cry evident in his voice.

Two pairs of hands pawed at her, and she drew both of her sons close in a wordless hug.

"Where's father?" Vergil piped up.

The innocent question made the pain, the anguish and loss, return, flooding her consciousness. Before she could stop herself, a sob escaped. Dante glared at Vergil for asking. Because although they were still too young to know why, they knew that question had been the one to make her cry.

She saw the glare, and hugged them both tighter.

"It's all right." she whispered to them stroking Vergil's hair and resting her head on Dante's. Now, more than ever, she needed to be strong. For them.


End file.
